


For the vine

by Devolucao



Category: All New X-Factor
Genre: Bilingual Character(s), Canon Jewish Character, Code Switching, Gen, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 02:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2715581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devolucao/pseuds/Devolucao
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On this, the first night of Chanukah: Pietro learns a valuable lesson in watching his god-damn mouth, Lorna decks the halls, and Remy is still Remy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the vine

*sounds of laughter and swearing from the other room*

It's the first night of Chanukah, and Pietro has set aside this one day to be good, to be exemplary, to make an effort. After several panic attacks and an hour in the kitchen, he has succeeded in making one batch of latkes--baked, because tradition be damned, he does not want a repeat of Thanksgiving--edible enough to serve with a clear conscience, and these are not the words he should be hearing from his daughter's mouth. Not on Chanukah. Not on any night. 

Lorna shakes out a strand of non-denominational, completely secular holiday lights--for their non-denominational, completely secular tree. "Um, Pietro, are you okay? You keep...shaking your head." 

Remy makes an mn-mn noise, very helpful. "I had me a parakeet, once. He start doing that one day, next thing you know--stone dead on the ground."

"Just breathe," Lorna says, gesturing. "Take a breath. It's going to be alright."

More teenage giggling. Pietro blots his eyes on his sleeve. Onions, in case anyone cares to ask; and they don't. 

"Man, suck it up. You gon' go in there?"

Just nod, look authoritative, try not to laugh. "I'm going in there." 

There's a small alcove just off the kitchen, between the foyer and the large guest powder room, where, despite there being a sizeable media center with plenty of space and working outlets upstairs, everyone fights to set up their laptops and charge their phones. Here, Pietro finds them, clustered around a table--Georgia standing, Luna seated, and Doug stood off to the side in a manner he recognizes as somebody bribed, possibly threatened, into playing look-out. 

Immediately, the hands go up. "Pietro, I swear--"

And Pietro has the dubious privilege of watching the fun drain from their faces.

He says, "I'm not here to yell, I just want to see what you're watching. Unfreeze it."

Luna says, "Dad, it's just a Youtube video. Georgia was showing me--"

"I'm sorry, she asked me to. How could you say no to this punim!"

He is her parent, that's how. "Is that--are those swears? Are you swearing in Romanian? Luna--vai!"

"You swear in front of me all the time, Dad, don't be such a luddite."

"I have a Twitter account--and no, it's not for you to repeat." He says; again, not yelling, but concerned. "This word, especially. Where did you hear this? On Youtube?"

"No," she says sheepishly. "When I visited Transia."

"On your own?"

"I had lockjaw with me."

Alright, he's not even going to ask. "I know you know that's not safe--"

"I know, Dad."

"And I know you know that's not a nice thing to call somebody. It's a racial slur against people like us." Though he's only half, and Luna less than half, the intent is no less injurious. The sting of it, no less than the twist of a knife. "Please, don't ever use it again.

"Alright," he says. "Alright." This isn't going too badly, so far. "Is this your account? Can I see?" 

Georgia covers the track-pad with her hand. "Please, just promise me this isn't you about to fly off the handle. Because I am having some serious deja vous right now." 

Of that, he is all too painfully aware. "No yelling, I promise. But we do need to have a discussion about this."

About the filth coming from this child's mouth. She did not get that from her mother. For the love of all that's holy, if Crystal were here, the water in the pipes would freeze. Birds would fall dead from the sky. And Pietro would be in very. deep. shit.

"I'm sorry," says Doug, "but you have to admit...she's got you nailed."

Pietro shoos him back. "Douglas, please--" 

He persists. "Don't you remember last week? In the hangar bay?"

In traffic, swearing to god this will be the last time he gets behind the wheel. Watching Romania vs. Argentina on the big screen t.v., Doamne, ești dracului orb1? On Skype, interviewing with a reporter; in his defense, pulă2 is practically a term of endearment in Romania. In the kitchen, while washing everyone's dirty dishes, porci leneș dracului3\--alright, that's a mild one, but it's still not very nice. In the bathroom, where he'd dashed to empty out the medicine cabinet, ah dracu, căcat căcatcăcat4\--never, ever, stick your hand inside a glass while washing it! While Remy tweezed the slivers out of his hand, and just blood, blood everywhere găleată nenorocit de piş cal împuțit de căcat5.... 

"Alright, freeze it there," he sighs. "Let's put aside the swearing for a moment--and realize, that when you put something on the Internet, it's forever. It doesn't go away." Unless you're Harrison Snow, with millions of dollars and a team of legal wizards at your disposal. "When you apply to college, or interview for jobs. When you become president. These things have a way of following you. Now, do you want to be known for the rest of your life as the little gutter-mouth from Youtube?"

No answer, but that look--straight in the eyes without blinking--that is pure Crystal about to call him on his hypocrisy; and Danger, now hovering eerily silent in his periphery, does not see the problem.

"She is a bright girl, shouldn't you be proud of her linguistic skills?"

"She is ten years old--"

"Dad, I'm eleven."

"Luna, I know you're smart--you're my child, and you are no less than brilliant. But I'm not sure it's appropriate for you to have a Youtube account...just yet." 

No, make that ever. Never, ever. In fact, the entire site ought to be deleted for the good of man and mutantkind. He doesn't care if that makes him a luddite. No Twitter either, for that matter. No vines. No Tumblrs. 

"And you shouldn't be swearing," he adds. "Your tătic6 has a filthy mouth. You shouldn't repeat anything I say. No shit, no damn, no ass. None of that."

"What does...crucea ma`tii mean? What about that one?"

God preserve. "It means--it's--your mother's cross. It's really worse than it sounds." A top-shelf swear, Wanda calls it--but not if you're Jewish. "Very disrespectful. Under no circumstances are you ever to repeat it! I won't repeat it either, alright? Alright?" 

"Da, tătic."

He motions at the screen. "Do you know how to remove this? We'll watch another video."

"Dad, my views!"

"Remove those, too."

With a laborious sigh, Georgia leans down over the back of Luna's chair, clicks on a few things, and quietly crushes her soul. "There, it's gone. If you want, we can go play tiddly-winks instead."

Luna rolls her eyes beseechingly. "How about that game with the hoop, you know, like they played in the eighteenth century?"

"Sounds wonderful," Pietro says, and mission accomplished. "Dinner's at six. Try not to get too dirty." He has become precisely the insufferable bore people have always nagged him about, and his daughter hates him now. A perfect time to go see what's doing in the kitchen.

"Dad, I thought you promised we'd Skype Mum."

"We will," he sighs. Later. "I'll be in the other room if you need me. Danger--"

"I shall guard them with my life. Now, let us watch 'The Count Censored' again. I don't believe your father should object to that...."

The shame of it, c'est une hont, being shown up by a droid. In the kitchen, Remy seems to be finding this all terribly darkly amusing, smirking at him crosswise, like some gossiping old nag. Pietro shoves into him and calls him a tit.

He responds with, "Tit's a swear, Pietro." 

Pietro shoves him some more, but gently. "It's a species of songbird," he sniffs, now burying his face in Remy's shoulder. "Do you know? Do you have any idea how nerve wracking that was? My heart--"

"You did good," Remy says, solicitously. "You did good. You want a little shot of takillya? Hm? Un petit coup?"

"No." No more tequila, he'd promised that as well.

"How about a hug?" Lorna suggests from across the room. "Remy, hug my brother. Do it." 

"I been cutting hot peppas...."

"Pietro, hug Remy. Do it. I'm a little busy at the moment." Placing a perfectly secular and non-denominational tinsel star atop their Nonspecific Winter Holiday tree, now bedecked with lights and ornaments and popcorn strands, all of which Lorna had brought in without consulting him first. 

It's for Georgia, though, and Remy, and Doug. How can he object to that?

"And not one of those awkward man-hugs either," she adds. "I mean a real hug. Get close. Get _in_ there."

Remy puts on quite the show of tolerance, like one of his cats, all warm and loaf-like and grouchy. "Lawn, y'all need Jesus."

"We're half Jewish," she says around a sprig of Douglas fir.

"Yeah? Which half?"

"Pietro, you may hit him. But don't break anything, it's a holiday."

Remy slinks just out of reach, his tolerance now at an end, and resumes cutting his peppas. "You do that," he warns vaguely. 

But later, much later on, after they've lighted the tree and the menorah; after Skyping Crystal and somehow managing not to cry; after the dinner dishes are cleared and half a bottle of Slivovitz drunk between the five adults; after standing outside in the cold for ages, until Warlock gives the thumbs up and shorts out the entire house with his lights display; after agreeing it would have been pretty great, had it worked, Remy leans in and just drapes himself over Pietro like a shawl. 

His teeth are positively chattering. "Well," he says. "It's bumdoo. Right, Luna?"

"I'll humor you," says Pietro, his mouth working long before he realizes the error of his ways. "What's a bum do?"

"Ain't do shit. Now, can we go back inside? I think my eyelashes freeze shut."

Pietro turns to mouth silently to Luna, her iPhone at the ready: don't repeat that. "Now swear to me this isn't going up on the Facebook."

"I promise, Dad," and smiling, she says, "Happy Chanukah."

**Author's Note:**

> 1God, are you fucking blind?  
> 2dick  
> 3damn/fucking lazy pigs (Pietro considers this mild?)  
> 4Ah fuck, shit shitshit  
> 5horse fucking stinking piss bucket of shit  
> 6Dad, daddy, papa, etc


End file.
